Shattered
by P.L.S
Summary: Might not continue- Harry is a rather old Immortal who had the misfortune of having his first death at 17. Luckily he knows a few folks who have lives that are just as odd as his and won't ask questions. HPHLGW


He appeared after the Eve Wars final great battle in space. No one knew where he was from, whether he was born on L2 or was a stowaway of some sort. But mostly he was ignored for the drama of the forming of the World Nation and the treaties and negosiations that came with the new year. It wasn't like there wasn't a bunch of soldiers returning home or settling on the colony to get a new start, new faces were common and a kid like him didn't regester in most minds.

Other than his lack of food, currency, and housing, nothing stood out. He was normal for a street rat, he didn't let anyone touch him, he never begged, nor was he a pickpocket. He didn't talk but most looked at the dirtied bandages and rags about his throat and assumed his larnyx was damaged in an accident or in the war. Only very few knew about the way he made his living. And no one knew of the short sword hidden in the pack he always wore and the fact that he doubted that he was human anymore, if he ever was to begin with.

There were so few of his kind left in the world. Over time the oldest ones just vanished into history, and people like him were scattered amoung the stars. His first people were nothing but fairy tales and comic strips, his own tale way now lost to time and the fluidness of human memoreies. He passed himself off to the poorest as a healer of an old faith, and he worked his miricles for food or a few bits of change. It alowed him enough to survive, but not to live. He didn't want to live though.

His name was now and forever the only luxury he allowed himself, not that it would get him in trouble or besieged by fans sending owls with trinkets and love letters anymore. Harry Potter meant nothing to people, other than the destitute who called him a young monk or a training healer. He kept only his first sword, his dragon hide robes which seemed to age about as much as he was able to, and his mental treasury of spells, potions, and other magical knowledge which he took three centuries to memorize.

It had been decades since he admited he was a wizard to anyone, years since the last word he had spoken, centuries since he actually called anyone a friend. Of course even for a being with 9,664 years of life, it was still a long time to go without compainionship. Not that he couldn't and didn't. It just so happened, the last time he opened up he ended up drugged and wakened in cerimonial robes on a cult's alter to some stupid kami or godling. It didn't take long for bonds to be broken and to bathe the temple with the blood of the idiots who dared to offer him as a sacrafice. He cleaned and kept the robes, they were somber yet ornate enough to give some people ease when he was doing major healings. He also had to steal some clothes from a few corpses and summon his dragon hide robes and sword from a bonfire outside the temple. That burned him from ever even trusting normal humans again.

But now he knew he was being followed, desipte how innocuous he made himself look. Stopping he pulled aside the tracker. It was a man in a rather nice suit and sunglasses.

You're the healer, right? Harry nodded, keeping a hand on the knife in his sleave, Good, my boss, he needs help of a mircle worker, doctors wouldn't do anything but drug him. said the man. Harry scowled and probed the mind with skill, seeking the truth. The man's boss was certainly in danger of death. There was no duplisity here excepting the fact that the boss was a black market dealer of arms and other dangers.

But the boss was not an evil man like the successor was going to be. Resigned, Harry nodded.

Take me to him. The man was stunned that Harry could talk but never the less directed Harry to a car which sped off across the colony. After a quarter of an hour Harry gave the ill man a once over and cast a few spells which halted the poisons and the viruses from doing more damage. Harry took a short break to shower and dress in the robes and wear the sword which made everyone now look at him with respect. He also enlarged his cauldron, cabinet, and tools. In moments he was making a potion over a blue bell fire at the foot of the sick bed. It wasn't a potion to be ingested, rather the fumes would carry the healing factors to the blood with each breath. In hours, after more spells and care, the rather old man was wake and asking about everything.

Harry let the underlings answer questions as he continued to chant over the cauldron, fed the potion water and herbs while stiring, the potion would need three more hours before the man could leave the fume filled room. The one who fetched him finally directed the questions to Harry as the man sent of the rest of the undelings to do various tasks.

So you're the great healer of the ghettos? asked the man with a bite of scorn. Harry looked up and could tell the man was stunned by his youth.

Aye. I'm the healer who saved your life only because the one you named successor would plunge us all into another war. Harry said, I'm also placing a curse on you until you change that fact. Harry smirked at the dumbstruck look as he started to rattle off directions like not to leave the room for another two hours and to take deep breaths of the curling yellowish smoke. With a final smirk, he uttered the promised curse and left the room for the wet bar he saw when he entered the building.

He was barefooted, as he was prone to do when in the robes. It just felt natural to go without even slippers when he had the thick velvet robes enveloping him. It also gave him the added advantage of being relitively silent. He drew up the deep hood and hid in the shadows as he walked into the open room. Instantly several rather important looking men came up to him and asked about their boss.

The old man will be fine. He just has to let my magic work on him for a few more hours, then he can go back to being a criminal. Now move I want to make myself a cocktail while the drinks are free. Harry ordered and all but one left him. It just happened to be not only the heir, but the poisoner.

You're sure he is cured? asked the falsly conserned man. Harry laughed.

I can cure death if the case is brought to be soon enough, what makes you think that a mere poison would be a challenge? Besides my dead teacher could do a better job of poisoning than you. And if you slip that arsinic into my drink, you will find yourself in a hell of my choosing faster than your bodyguard can draw his taser. Harry said. The man paled and all eyes were on them, every word heard.

It didn't take long for the poor man to be escorted to a room and get literally gutted for his betrayal. Harry knew long ago he would have felt sorrow, but now all he felt was cold satisfaction.

**+  
**  
Harry took the gold and the currency cards out of their hiding spot and walked out the the spaceport. He needed to hitch a ride. Some idiot had found him and challenged him. He was just lucky that he had created a spell to bypass that messy lightning part of victory and thus avoided damage to the colony, but someone saw him fight and absorb the poor sods body and essence. It wouldn't take long for blackmail or rumors to start up.

He came to the port and started to look at the cargo shuttles and ships from the windows. There, the smallest and dingiest little heep of junk, but he knew the pilot and owners. Both owed him a few favors, and neither asked questions. He typed in a quick message to Maxwell and sat by the com-kiosk. With a slight ring the message was answered by a vid call.

Hey, Potter. Long time no see. said the happy pilot with his ever epervesent grin. Harry smiled.

I need to get off colony as fast as you can manage. I don't care where, I just can't stay. he said.

Maxwell winked, I got a bud on L4 who might have a job for you if you can stand living in luxury for once in your life.He needs a healer?Nah, but your other skills might come in handy. He won't like it, but I keep getting the vibe that he needs someone to watch his back, while he is convinced all he needs is a personal assistant. Maxwell said with a surprisingly serious face.

Hell, he's another one of you thrice damned pilots. Harry said.

You are correct, sir! I'll fill you in on the way over. Come on down and I'll let you get settled as I call Hilde up. Maxwell said and Harry nodded then turned off the connection to his account.

It took all of seven minutes for him to sneek past security and onto the Cherub and it took Maxwell seven more minutes to see that Harry was already sitting half asleep on the bench behind the co-pilot's chair. The long haired eighteen year old smiled and threw a ratty old quilt at the healer and told him to just sleep until they were on L4. Harry nodded and was soon curled up on the bench.

**+  
**

Harry figgetted as he sat next to Maxwell in the opulent lobby before the office of the head of the Winner family. He was still dressed in his street clothes, stained, ripped, patched, but comfortable, he was also as out of place as he never had been before. He always took care to pick out lower class areas and never dared to hobnob with the rich. Maxwell looked at ease, but then he was at ease everywhere and he had no shame.

Maxwell-san, Potter-san, Winner-sama will see you now. said the very cute reseptionist and Harry sighed as he and followed Maxwell into a room where the pilot was tackled by a blond and white blur.

Easy, Quat. Did you use me as an excuse to get out of a dull shareholder's meeting?Worse, I used you to get out of my matchmaking sisters' hands. The blond grinned as much as Maxwell and definatly had the same feel to him as the other Gundam pilot did. Harry frowned, human idiocy never ceesed to irritate him. After more than 9,000 years people were still using children to fight wars and those children still grew with scars.

Potter, you okay, man? You look p.o.ed. asked Maxwell.

Aye. Just frustrated with the scars left on you two by irresponciple fools. Harry ground out. Winner was now confused.

Potter-kun is a traditional healer, you know magic spiritual and all that. He told me a while ago that he can almost see into our minds and hearts if he wants to. He swears up and down that he sees damage done by out training and fights. Maxwell explained.

So why did you tell me that you had the perfect PA for me? Winner asked.

Potter-kun is good with people, really reads minds, can use computers like Heero, has a great memory, keeps secrets like a vault, and can do wicked things like vanish and appear at will. Is that not PA material or what? Both Harry and Winner smiled at Maxwell's enthuiasm.

Okay. So why did you need him to see me so soon? Why not go through the usual channels?

Harry frowned, My time on L2 was spent as a healer to the poor, but as usual ghosts of my own past found me and I was forced to leave after a fight which would have lead to blackmail or secrets becoming common knowledge. I couldn't risk it.I understand. Okay, you've got the job. Now, can you and Duo sneak me out so we can have some fun? Harry smirked. With a wispered incantation the white robes and suit became old and ratty clothes and touching each on the head he cast the disilluisionment charm as well as a sound nullification spell. Using signs he picked up from watching swat teams take out drug dealers and gangs for years he signalled for no sound and for the two to follow him.

In a fast hour they were at a kareoke bar and drinking bad beer and listening to Duo's even worse singing.

Harry frowned at the lawyer sent to negoisiate something with Winner. Winner was bored and clearly not jumping for joy at the contracts besides Harry didn't like Yoshi Dai. The man was already on Harry's bad side and those sickening waves that every liar made just flowed off of the man in the tailored suit. Without blinking he wrote and sent a quick mail to his boss which would show up on his desk's built-in monitor. Winner tapped a pen, showing he got the message. Then Winner put down the pen, he wanted for some appointment to interupt the meeting.

Mr. Winner, you have to see your doctor soon. I'd suggest you leave in five minutes if you want to be late. Harry said and Winner smiled.

Thank you, Harry. I'm sorry, Dai-san, but I need to get going. Talk to my reseptionist about setting up a better time to talk. Dai left in a cold huff and Winner frowned at Harry, What did you get off of him?Rei Lin is holding back records, probably doctored books, and Dai is in on the embezzlement. It's preferable to avoid them and cut all ties soon, before these development become public, but if you do they will try blackmail, and chances are your history as a pilot will come to light. Harry said softly. Winner sighed.

Harry saw that the whole corporate culture was starting to take a toll on Winner in a way that the war and all the killing never did. The young man needed a break from it all, to get to do something simple. Then Harry thought of it. It really wouldn't take long, he knew just where all his old stuff was stored and just how to adapt the old technology to the latest version of the television. Harry sent a quick message to his contact on Earth.

It wouldn't be the first time that video games would be used as stress relief tools, nor would it be the last.

Aw, Harry-kun. whinned Quatre, Let's go to L2. Harry shook his head. In the five years he had become Quatre's friend of sorts. It didn't take much, just an assassination attempt where the pilot figured out that Harry didn't die from a bullet to the brain like the rest of humanity did. That was just six months after Harry was hired, and two months after Quatre's being a pilot became rather common knowledge. After admitting to Quatre his age and just what exactly he was, then after two more years of legal fights, dealing with the fickle press, and protecting the names and faces of the rest of the pilots, Harry and Quatre realized that they were friends.

Not that it did Quatre any good when he tried to get Harry to do some creative scheduling to get him out of shareholder's meetings and other hated appointments which the head of the Winner family had to attend. But then again it was also Harry who convinced Quatre to date and in the end convinced Quatre to propose to Tamara Lane. It was also Harry who ended up officiating the cerimony as well, especially after Quatre found out that in one of his past lives Harry was a fully ordaned preist in a small Mid Eastern community on Earth.

Right now Harry was looking at his handheld notebook, trying to ignore the overdone puppy dog eyes that the desparate Quatre was trying out. They were in a car on the way to go to dinner with the Lane family, who hated Quatre with a passion and were appaled that their beloved daughter saw fit to marry the multibillionare. Tamara was already there with their children, fraternal twins Shara and David, who were now two years old and spoiled by both parents and grandparents, and usually disipilined by Harry. Not that it ever stopped the two from trying to get Harry to do minor magic tricks to entertain them.


End file.
